


Troubles of the World

by exilefromlife



Series: Legacy [14]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Chronic Pain, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24584317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exilefromlife/pseuds/exilefromlife
Summary: Varian struggles to adjust to his life.
Series: Legacy [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673437
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Troubles of the World

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still upset that we don't have full dictionaries for different languages of Azeroth, so I'm shamelessly borrowing from Dragon Age. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> Da'len = "little one"

The worst part about Varian’s limitations isn’t the fact that he’ll always walk with a pronounced limp, or that he’ll have lasting nerve damage all over his body. No, the worst is the fact that his heart and lungs will no longer support endurance activities. Short bursts of certain activities--some public, some significantly less so--have yet to cause him issues since his father and Velen told him his recovery was as good as it was going to get. However, his favorite activity was one he couldn’t escape from as crown prince of Blackrock.

Every weekend, the Dark Iron dwarves that worked in the mountain held a race. There were no prizes other than an ego boost, merely camaraderie and a bit of fun. The race always started at the base of the mountain and followed the vast, spiraling halls up to the throne room in the Spire. Everyone in the mountain except for his father participated in the run, which his father was the one waiting to declare the winner or winners.

Varian used to run the race, once.

 _“Get out!”_ He screams at his papa, throwing his cane at the door as the elder dragon slams the door behind him. Another day of his body never being what it used to be. Another day of his foolishness thrown in his face. Just another _fucking_ day.

His papa had come to ask him if he wanted to help his father up at the Spire, as if it would make the situation any better. He’d been watching the races for _two years_ with the hope that one day he’d participate in them again, only to find out less than a day ago that he never would. What an idiot he’d been. He sinks to the stone floor, back braced against his desk. On top of it all, he now owed his papa a very large apology.

Varian tips his head back and sighs. He’d send a message to his beloved, but Andagos was at Wyrmrest Temple trying out some new spells and at least one of them would be having fun. The young drake sits there in silence long enough that his hips start to ache from the hard stone. A horn echoes throughout the mountain and the rage and frustration rushes over him anew, giving him enough energy to haul himself to his feet and into his chair.   
  
He might as well get paperwork done if he was going to lock himself in his rooms for the rest of the day. The last thing he wants is his youngest siblings squawking about how much fun the race had been while the anger boils beneath his skin. Snarling at one of them had earned him the most scathing talk with his papa he’d received to date.

There’s a tapping sound on his door that snaps him out of his thoughts and makes him look up at who’s come to bother him. Varian’s ready to snap at anyone at this point, but when he sees his father enter, the rage cools down into something more manageable.

“If you’re here to scold me for yelling at Papa, kindly leave. I’m not in the mood.” Varian says coldly.

His father simply closes the door and walks over to the desk, golden eyes and markings glowing dimly. “And ruin his chance to do so himself? No thanks.”

“Oh, goodie, then you’re here to try and make me see the similarities between you and me. No offense, Father, but at least they just chopped off your limb and healed you properly from there. Your heart doesn’t try to burst every time you fuck Papa.”

“Varian Landan Wrynn, you _will_ watch your tone with me.” His father says, voice firm.

Varian couldn’t be bothered. “ _You_ get to live a full life, Father, while I’m left a mere shade of my former self! All of the things I always wanted to do are barred from me now! It would have been better if I’d--”

“Don’t you dare!” Anduin yells. Varian’s so taken aback by the volume that his father had _never_ directed towards him or his siblings that his mouth shuts with a click. He stares as his father takes a breath and continues in a softer voice. “Don’t you dare say that you would be better off dead. Please. Please don’t to yourself what I did to myself.”

Varian’s eyes widen. “You…but you recovered so quickly…”

“No, I didn’t. I was stabilized quickly, but my recovery took years. I was still adjusting to my own limitations when I became king. The nobles just like to spin the story differently.” His father walks over to him and squats down, taking the young dragon’s hands. “Da’len, you may be _healed_ now, but there is still a long way for you to go. We can work on strengthening your heart and lungs for sustaining more physical activities, and on building muscle to take the strain off your bones.”

“Is that what you had to do?” He asks, quiet in the wake of his father’s stern but calm words. The term of endearment helps soothe Varian’s hackles. “It’s going to take ages, isn’t it?”  
  
Anduin shrugs. “It might. It depends on how well you follow directions.”

“Oh, great.” Everyone in Blackrock Mountain knew that Varian was the worst person to give instructions to. He makes a noise of frustration and distress in the back of his throat. “I should have never tried to fix Grim Batol.”

“Alright, that’s enough self-loathing for one day.” His father stands and hauls Varian up over a shoulder as the dragon yelps, startled.

“Father!!”

“Hush, da’len.” He’s slid carefully onto the bed, and oh. He understands now, churring as his father sits on it as well, propped against the headboard. Varian scoots over and curls so he can lay his head on his father’s chest.

He realizes that any outsiders would look on this action with derision, their own internalized prejudices assuming the worst about his father. Dragons, however, were a different story. Genn had once called him a glorified cat when he’d curled up with the old wolf after a bad pain day. Contact was a reassurance, a declaration of affection, nothing more, nothing less. Varian sighs as the tension in his spine eases with the sparks of his father’s Light.

“You are the most powerful of all our children, even if your physical form is in pain and struggling. The earth responds to you better than it does your uncle. No one else could have done what you did so effectively. What you did was foolish, yes, but it worked despite the disaster. I was, still am, and always will be extremely proud of you. You are your papa’s son.” The older blond continues rubbing Varian’s back, sending more sparks to ease any pain in his nerves. “And you’re as tenacious as your grandfather. He’d tell you the same thing he told me.”

Varian stirs to look up at Anduin. “Which was?”

“You may become king of one people, but the world will learn to bow before your power.” He smiles down at his son, who returns it with a moment’s hesitation. Varian would have liked to have met his namesake.

“I don’t want the world to bow to me.”

“Neither did I, da’len.” His smile grows. “But they will anyway. It’s just who you are. Your duty is to be the best you can be for them. Do you know how to do that?”

“If you say ‘by following directions,’ I’m going to give all your left boots to Razia.”

His father laughs and pats his back. “Good threat, but two things: first, be nice to your sister. Second, no. You be the best for your people by being the best you can be for yourself first.”

“That’s disgustingly sappy, Father.” He says snarkily, but he gets the point. “So, when are you going to start torturing me with the exercises you had in mind?”

His father smirks down at him, and Varian suddenly feels like everything might just turn out okay. “Oh, I’m not the one going to be torturing you.”

“Uh.”

“Shaw is.”

“Oh, fuck you.” He says without heat, though he doesn’t move from his spot, too comforted by the ease of what the conversation has become to make his rebellious body respond to commands. They stay like that long enough that Varian starts to nod off. He rouses a little to look at his father with bright eyes. “Thank you, Father.”

“Of course. Remember that when you’re dragging yourself into a bath after Shaw’s done with you.”

“Hm.”

“Go to sleep, Varian, the troubles of the world will wait.” His father continues rubbing his back softly. He’s already drifting off when he hears his father’s words carry over into his dreams. “I love you, my son. My da’len.”

Everything would be okay.


End file.
